Bullys in the Mist
by AntiquarianLootMonkey
Summary: Humans aren't the only sentient species on Pandora. Look at life through the eyes of the bullymong of Windshear Waste… Rated M for language.


**Bullys in the Mist**

He shifted in his bed. The warmth of sleep still wrapped around him, but the sound of the children playing outside pierced through his mind and kept him from returning to his rest. He yawned, stretching out his long arms, as he went to look at the world outside. Some of his kin watched over the young ones as they rolled around chasing each other, and threw rocks like marbles. A chill wind blew over the ice-fields, straight over the Southern Shelf off the frozen sea beyond. He gave the slightest of shivers, almost imperceptible. It wouldn't do for the clan-leader to show weakness at a mere gust of wind. Soon the winter would be over, and while the snows would remain for some time up on the peaks, the valleys of the Southern Shelf would transform into arctic meadows. Life was good, but the summer would bring warmth. Life would soon be better.

He climbed down out of his den, dropping to the ground with uncanny softness, and was instantly pounced on by one of his children. "Daddy's up!" his daughter cried as she clung to his enormous forearm. He picked her up by the scruff of her neck and put her down lightly a meter away. Before he knew it though, she was back clinging to him again. He groaned, and tried walking forward with her attached. The awkward interaction was watched by a clan-member who chuckled quietly.

"That's enough to warm you right through to the bones," the clan-member said, pointing to the little one.

"Hmm," grunted Great-thinker, looking down, "I guess it does, Rotgut."

"I hear Bighorn and Tuft have another baby on the way," Rotgut continued. "Maybe even twins."

"That's what I hear."

"How about you Great-thinker? Will you and Clump be having another soon?"

Great-thinker thought for a moment. As clan-leader he was expected to have many offspring, but the delivery of last one nearly killed his mate Clump. He looked back at Rotgut, "We'll see what the summer brings," he answered.

"Ah, wise words Great-thinker," Rotgut nodded.

"Where's Numb-fingers? I thought it was his turn to watch over the children."

"He traded places with Drool so he could go milk the stinging-cactus up on the ridge," Rotgut paused to scratch his backside. "Says there's gonna be a bumper crop of cactus nectar before the warm air hits. We could use that at the summer rites."

Great-thinker could already picture the intoxicated clan downing the cactus nectar as the sun shifted in its quadrant overhead. "Sounds good. I'll tell him to start storing it." Great-thinker shook off the affectionate Hooktooth one more time and made his way towards the cliff-face.

From here he could survey their whole territory, the small plateau where they built their ice-dens surrounding him, the ice-shelf falling away below where the humans lived in their small town ringed by outliers of the clan – he shook his head at the humans' arrogant penetration into the territory, the clans dens on the outskirts of the town now almost abandoned as a result – and the valley of Windshear Waste behind the plateau, where the demon-thing now dwelt. He cringed at the memory of it, always chattering in that high-pitched voice which bored into the brain, a mechanical perversion of nature forever digging up the dead and looting the corpses. He had been born at the start of the previous summer season, long before the humans and demon-thing arrived, and by the end of the summer he had grown large enough to defend the clan almost single-handed. His superior intelligence and ability to use human tools had earned him both the name Great-thinker and the position of clan-leader when the old leader was killed by the encroaching humans. Now, with age, wisdom, and huge size on his side, there were none in the territory – bully, human, or demon – who dared oppose him.

As he turned back toward the rest of the clan, a movement on the ice-shelf caught his eye. Away beyond the settlement a group of men were hauling a small boat out of the harbour. It was heavily laden with fish. Rakk flew low overhead trying to snatch a free meal, and a couple of the men had pulled out their fire-sticks to blast the vermin away. Hmm, thought Great-thinker, a free meal. The humans were intruders, little better than vermin themselves, but they did so often make finding food easier for the clan. He watched as they pulled the boat out of the water and began dragging it across the ice. He knew they wouldn't reach the settlement until dusk, which gave him plenty of time to gather a raiding party of adults.

He clambered over the defunct Hyperion drop-barge. He remembered when the metal den crashed into their plateau at the start of the winter. Yellow metal-men and humans spilled out of it. The metal ones used big fire-sticks against the clan, but were easy enough to crush with the hard granite boulders that protruded through the snow-covered ground. The humans were much easier prey. The clan ate well then. Humans weren't the most satisfying meal, but in the bleak winter anything was welcome. Reaching the dens, he saw Rotgut talking to Hammerfist. As Great-thinker approached, they stopped their conversation, ready to listen to their leader.

The raid would be a simple one. Wait until the light was fading, quietly drop down onto the valley floor surrounding the human town, climb over the town walls, and take as many fish as could be carried by the raiding party. Great-thinker had marshalled three other clan-members to accompany him. Four fully-grown bullymong should be enough to fight off any number of those foul-smelling humans, he thought. The few remaining clan living in dens around the town would be there to stop the raiding party from being followed if anyone was foolish enough to try. The fish could then be shared among the clan, a late winter feast. As the sun began to set, the air grew colder and mist rolled in off the ocean. Great-thinker lead the raiding party down the slopes, sending Hammerfist and Strange-smell ahead to scout over the walls and find where the fish was being kept. Great-thinker knew the humans wouldn't bother storing the fish inside on such a cold night but would bury it in an ice-tomb, and told the scouts to look in any mounds of freshly cut ice for the goods. Meanwhile, he and Fangface would wait outside the wall, ready to carry out the bulk of the foodstuff. Great-thinker knew that one or two bullys might sneak into the town unnoticed for a time, but more would too easily be spotted and provoke panic and rage among the humans. He'd already seen what humans did to bullys, and to each other, to risk his clan-members unnecessarily.

Hammerfist and Strange-smell dropped over the wall silently. With a low growl Strange-smell indicated to Hammerfist a small mound of snow not far from a brightly lit vending machine with an image of a big red syringe on it. Cautiously he moved toward it, and brushed it open but it revealed nothing but more powdery snow. Hammerfist grunted at him as she surveyed the settlement. Liar's Berg seemed to have more humans in it now than there had been for several months. She could see a small group of armed men outside the building in the centre of town, and carefully moved away from the vending machine, back into the shadows. On the other side of the central building, near the town gate leading to the harbour, was another icy mound. She nodded towards it, and motioned to Strange-smell to check it out.

As he approached the mound, the snow softly creaked under his strong hands. Strange-smell checked himself to make sure he'd not drawn any unwanted attention, then continued forward. This mound was man-made, but as he carefully broke it open, he found it contained the corpse of a human. It looked like it had been there for a while, its withered face mummified by the cold. Strange-smell returned to Hammerfist empty handed. He growled plaintively. She snorted. Strange-smell was strong, and big for his age, but he'd always been a bully that gave up the chase easily. She turned back to the settlement. Great-thinker had seen the humans draw the fish-haul up, so she knew the prize must be here somewhere.

The men were still talking in the centre of town. Hammerfist was eager to avoid going near them for as long as she could, to avoid alerting the humans to the raid, but could see few other hiding spots around the outskirts of town. As she moved out of the shadows the mist momentarily thinned, as a cold gust blew through Liar's Berg. Ahead of her, she saw a dome-shaped mound of ice, freshly cut and glinting in the starlight, off to the side of the bridge and just out of the dim lights from the occupied buildings. The mist closed in again becoming a thick fog, and the mound disappeared out of sight. Hammerfist padded forward, feeling the rise in ground level beneath her fingers as she moved closer to the bridge. Staying as far out of the light as she could, she crept up to the mound and broke it open. Looking into the ice she drew in a sharp breath between her fanged teeth – jackpot!

…

Harris shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he leaned against the low ice wall listening to Lister and Grash, and stared into the mist. "Flynt said we gotta stay posted out here another two weeks. Somethin' he picked up off the ECHOnet. Some bullshit about Hyperion," said Grash. "Like they'd wanna come out here – I'm freezing my balls off."

"I'd rather be standing out here than sitting in there with whatever the hell that rotten fetid stench is coming out of Hank's ass," Lister growled, nodding over his shoulder toward the dilapidated Fillion's Bed, Breakfast & Bullets. "What the hell's he been eating to make him smell like that?"

"You don't wanna know. For god's sake would you stop already?"

Harris twitched again. "Can't help it. I keep thinking I see something moving," he whined.

"There ain't nothing out here. It's too fucking cold for anything to be out here," Grash growled back. "Now stop your god damn fidgeting, you're making me nervous." Harris shifted his weight again and tried to settle down. The other two kept talking, while he looked around the buildings, then across the bridge toward the hut at the other end. He could barely see the rope bridge, let alone what lay at the opposite end. He turned back towards his companions and stared into the camp fire lit in the old drum in front of them. Lister was finishing an exposition on the long-since-gone mayor of Blackburn Cove's daughter. "Ended up nailed to a mast, just like her daddy. Always said it was a waste, that." Grash grunted in a non-committal way. At the edge of hearing, Harris thought he caught the sound of ice cracking. He jumped forward and lifted his shotgun. Lister and Grash jumped with him.

"I thought I told you to quit it," raged Grash. "You just about had me in the fire then. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"I told you, I ain't comfortable out here. I know something's out here with us, I can feel it."

"You can feel it? Like you've just grown sensitivities or somethin'?" Grash and Lister both sniggered. "Maybe you started growing boobs and turned into a Siren too, huh? You're full of shit Harris, put the fucking gun down and stop wetting your panties."

"Screw you, Grash." Harris lifted his gun again and pointed it at his fellow bandit, only to have it knocked out of his hands by Lister.

"Grash is right, this night is too cold for anything to be out. Only thing moving out here is the mist and your imagination."

Harris reached down and picked up the shotgun. "Yeah, well I ain't so sure. I'll leave you ladies to sit on your asses while I go check it out, shall I?" he said as he moved away from the fire.

"Whatever," said Grash still giggling malevolently, "just get it over with quiet like, asshole."

Harris walked into the dark fog, the ice and snow crunching softly under his feet. He approached the near end of the bridge, unable to see more than an arms-length in front of him. As he reached the Fast Travel station, he felt the cold night air suddenly become a little warmer, the salty taste replaced by the smell of foul breath. A little more than a metre ahead was the haul of fish some of his fellow bandits had caught earlier. Deciding to check on the make-shift ice safe, he stepped forward, straight into the pelt of a two metre tall bullymong. He staggered backward as it turned around toward him. "Holy crap!" he screamed.

Back at the fire Grash looked at Lister, rolling his eyes, and called out "Harris, why you gotta be such a pussy all the time?"

"The god-damn bullymong are stealing the fi– "

Seconds later Harris' limp body flew out of the fog as it was hurled against the motel wall, landing in a bloody squish not far from the fire. Lister and Grash grabbed their rifles and called out to Hank, Cray, and the others for backup.

…

The man had walked into Strange-smell's back as he and Hammerfist were laying open the ice mound of fish. Surprised by the sudden touch, he turned to see what had bumped him. He looked down into the eyes of the human, who stared back in wide-eyed terror before opening its mouth to squeal and scream. Strange-smell pounded his fist into the man's head in an effort to quiet him before other humans could be called for, but too late. The man had shouted out, letting the camp know the bullys had found their prize. The game was on. Strange-smell picked up the now limp body and threw it in the direction the human had come from as a warning to others not to get in the way. The night erupted with shouts and the sudden crackle of the men's firesticks as they rushed toward Strange-smell and Hammerfist, peppering the air with little metal fingers of pain. Hammerfist picked up a boulder and hurled it through the air at the approaching men. It pinned one to the ground in a puddle of blood, but the others avoided it and kept up the gunfire. Strange-smell was stung with pellets from the fire-sticks down one arm, a haze of blood clouding around him. He retaliated, picking up a bandit and pulling all four limbs off at once, and then hurling the ragged body at his comrades like a marble.

As the carcass churned its remaining bodily fluids through the air, another man ran forward. Spraying a fast rain of bullets over the two bullymong he screamed, "You bastards, you killed my buddy!" He dropped the rifle he was using and pulled out a shotgun, using incendiary rounds, and set fire to Hammerfist's pelt before he could be swatted out of the way. As she rolled in the snow to douse the flames, another man closed in with a hatchet and started hacking at her side. Her screams of pain echoed through Liar's Berg.

Outside the town walls, Great-thinker and Fangface waited in silence. Hammerfist and Strange-smell had been gone some time, but not long enough to cause worry. Great-thinker knew it may take a while to find the fish haul, and turned his mind elsewhere. He could hear the sound of gunfire coming from the centre of Liar's Berg, but he shrugged it off. It was not uncommon for humans to use their firesticks on each other for no apparent reason. Suddenly, the shrill screams of Hammerfist cut through his thoughts. He looked at Fangface, and together they leaped over the wall. Fangface reached the centre of town first, bursting in on the assault. "God damn it, there's another one!" shouted a man as he turned his firestick towards Fangface. Out of the fog behind the newly arrived bully appeared Great-thinker, breathing heavily and foaming at the mouth with rage.

"Shit Lister! It's that fucking Knuckle Dragger! Get back!" another bandit called out as he pulled his buddy out of the way. They scrambled for cover as the mighty clan-leader picked up two more offending humans and smashed them against each other before squeezing their flesh into bloody pulp. He looked around at the few remaining men and released a deafening bellow. The bandits fell back, some dropping their weapons, as they took off in the opposite direction. Left alone in the frozen streets, the clan-leader turned back to his raiding party.

Fangface was helping Hammerfist put out the remaining flames on her scorched and bloodied hide. She had been badly cut by the hatchet, but with time she'd heal. Strange-smell had fared better, with little more than a line of holes running down one arm – battle wounds that he could turn into tales of glory. Great-thinker looked down at the fish haul. There was enough to feed the clan well for a fortnight. At least the raid had been worth the effort, he thought. The fish was gathered up between them, and as they bounded through the main landward gate of Lair's Berg, he caught the distant shouts of bandits, calling out to each other, "He's leaving! Knuckle Dragger's taken off!" "Yeah, but he's taken all the damned fish I bet! That's a two-day catch, damn it! Now what're we gonna eat? Stuck out here on this damn ice block…"

As his clan-warriors put distance between them and the town, Great-thinker couldn't help reflect on the name men called him – Knuckle Dragger – he didn't know what it meant, not that it mattered. They were only primitive after all, concerned only with anger and looting; he'd never even seen them perform the summer rites. Not for the first time he was grateful that the humans found his size so intimidating. He knew it had saved the clan-members that night. There had been more men in Liar's Berg than he had anticipated, and he wasn't sure why. Great-thinker had watched the exodus of most of the humans from the town weeks before, and while a few stayed, their number had slowly dwindled. Bandits regularly entered the town when fishing in the harbour, but never so many at one time. The number of men in Liar's Berg that night had been a surprise, and the bullmongs' raid hadn't gone to plan.

He looked back down on the town. It still lay shrouded in mist, but from the cliff leading back up to the clan's plateau he could see the buildings clearly poking through. Outside the walls on higher ground, and on the far side of the settlement the mist had thinned to nothing, only laying as a blanket over the town itself and the harbour beyond. Great-thinker could still see movement on the streets below, humans sifting through the corpses of the fallen… and movement at the gate to the tower on the far side of town. A gleam of light was flashing in the darkness. Great-thinker tried to focus on what it was, and gave a snort as he recognised the half man-half mechanical figure standing at the gate. Great-thinker had never trusted this beast, but was intrigued by him. He seemed to have more intelligence than most humans, and didn't smell like one because of all the metal attached to his body. But he didn't behave like any of the metal-men Great-thinker had seen before either. The beast just watched the clan through a long stick that it held to its eye and scribbled things in what Great-thinker knew was a book. It made Great-thinker feel uncomfortable, and his skin crawled up his back. He turned away, bounding up the slope behind the others. Hammerfist was limping, and oozing a trail of blood from her wounds. He would make sure she was well rewarded for her fierce defence at the battle. The fish would be divided among the clan, and the fearless story of the great fish raid would be told to the children. By summer, it would be part of the clan folk-lore. And as an unexpected bonus, there were now fewer humans in Liar's Berg once again. The clan could now perhaps take back their abandoned dens around the human town. Great-thinker growled softly. Life was getting better, he thought.


End file.
